The Sorry Tale Of King Richard III
by broken ingot
Summary: This is the story of Richard III's bloody rise to power and his eventual downfall. It is told from his own point of view, putting a bit of a different perspective on the story. It is a rather humorous parody of Shakespeare's play about him. Enjoy (and laugh)!
1. Chapter I

**I.**

 **Why, Oh Why Did I Get Out of Bed This Morning?**

This morning I woke up with a longing for the crown. Which is giving me me a headache trying to think of a way to get it. You see, there are an awful lot of people in line for the throne in front of me. George the duke of Clarence (my annoying brother) is one of them. Why couldn't I have been older than him? It'd save me a lot of trouble. The nerve of some people. Getting themselves born before their ambitious siblings. Sigh. I suppose I must get out of bed and become Richard, duke of Gloucester, and not some sniffly idiot lying around all morning.

* * *

I dragged myself out of the door and walked to a small street where I could talk to myself, which is one of the things I do best. As I walked, I spotted my shadow on the wall of a house.

''Oh dear,'' I sniffed. ''Just look at my appearance. It's DETESTABLE. I have a crooked back. Poor me. Why, oh why did I get out of bed this morning!? I'm not even tall or charming like my brothers. There is nothing else to do except to continue with my plan, and get my brothers King Edward IV and George into a fight. The king will get George out of the way, and one of the heirs to the throne will disappear! But there's still more heirs to shove out of the way. Sigh. Re-sigh. I'm hopeless. And I'm nowhere near as good as my deceased father either. I hate me.''

While I was busy crushing my self-esteem, my brother George, duke of Clarence came down the street under guard. I asked him what had happened, and he replied, "King Edward has sent me to the Tower of London."

"Why?" I enquired.

"Because my name is George," he said.

That's one of the worst things about George, he never makes sense. I wished he would give me a straight answer, for once. But I guessed that my plan to stir Edward up against George had worked. I was proved right, because then George scowled and said that Edward had sent him to the Tower because of a 'prophecy' (that I invented) which said that 'G shall the murderer be'. Therefore, George was thought to want to kill Edward for the crown. Hee hee. So I'm not that hopeless after all!

Then, I played the shocked, grief-stricken, loving brother. I said something like: "Aw, you poor thing, Georgie. Y'know, it wasn't really Edward, but his wife the Queen who put you in such a mess, like she did to good old Lord Hastings." He looked genuinely surprised. You can never expect him to mask his emotions. He looked like he was about to have a meltdown, so I quickly said that I would go and plead, beg even, to get him out of his predicament. I had a pitying look on my face and was patting him on the back all the while. He hugged me (argh) and the guards chivvied him off to the Tower.

But then, from that same direction came the freed Lord Hastings (grinning widely)...

"Good morning to my gracious lord!" said Hastings, still with that silly grin plastered all over his face.

"Same to you, Lord Chamberlain!" I said, just as cheerfully. "How are you after that long gaol term, eh?" "Not too bad," he answered, "I shall still live to be able to thank those who sent me there!"

I couldn't believe how he could smile for such a long period of time. "And the Duke of Clarence should as well, because the people who were your enemies are now his," I replied.

"Oh dear," Hastings said, the smile sliding off his face.

"But anyway," I said, trying to change the subject, "Any news around?"

"Ain't much news around as bad as this!" Hastings moaned, his smile totally absent now. "The king is ill and weak, and his doctors don't have much hope for him!"

"By Saint John, that's bad news indeed!" I growled. "What have I told him about stuffing his royal face too often!? It's very sad to think about. Where is he? In bed?"

"Yep," muttered Hastings.

"You go to visit him first, and I'll come later," I said.

Hastings trailed off, dragging his feet. He had a face on him that could probably make it rain. I have that effect on people. But anyway, I wasn't lying when I said that Edward being sick was bad news. If Edward dies before I have a chance to get rid of George, George will be able to rule while Edward's sons are still small, and if they should die, George will probably become king, and it is much, much harder to kill a king! So right now, I'll try to make Edward hate George more, instead of pleading for him. Then I'll kill George, wait for Edward to die, and marry the Earl of Warwick's youngest daughter. Not really for love (although she is quite pretty), but for another reason... Hang on, hold my horses! George is still alive and Edward is still the king now. But when they are gone, then I'll be on top! Aha ha ha ha haaa! (evil laugh)

* * *

I was just innocently walking along a street, when I spotted the corpse of King Henry VI being carried along it.

He was the king before my brother Edward. Very honest and incapable of trickery, but a bit of a nutter in my opinion. A Lancastrian. Good riddance to red rose rubbish. I am from the other side fighting for the crown. A Yorkist. All my family are white roses too. That won't stop me from picking them off so I can get to the crown.

Anyway, next to the corpse, walking along beside it (and weeping piteously), was the Earl of Warwick's youngest daughter, Lady Anne Neville. The one who I was planning to marry.

I stopped the corpse-bearers by walking in front of them. I shouted, "Stop and put down that corpse, or I'll make a corpse of whoever disobeys me!"

I suppose that was a bit nasty, but it worked. Then Lady Anne called me all sorts of horrible names like 'foul hunchbacked toad'. Hey, I only have one shoulder a bit (okay, a lot) higher than the other!

After she shrieked at me to go and hang myself for all the murders I'd done in the past, including killing her husband, I tried to calm her down by saying it was all because of my love for her. I then drew my sword, knelt down, and gave it to her so that she could kill me if she wanted to. I even told her that it was I who murdered King Henry VI. Well, why not? Faint heart never won fair lady.

Anne stood there pointing the sword at me for what seemed an age. She was just about to stab me when her hand trembled and she dropped the sword on the ground. "Pick up the sword again, or be my wife," I said.

"Get up," she said, sniffling. "Even though I wish you were dead, I won't be your executioner."

"Tell me to kill myself then, and I'll do it just for you!" I grinned.

"I have already," she frowned.

"That was anger-fuelled," I said, "Say it again, and I'll do it."

I could see I was starting to win her over. She couldn't bring herself to say it. Her anger was wavering. "Do this, at least, for me," I continued.

"Do what?" she asked.

"Stop mourning, and leave the w-weeping to me who did this h-horrible murder. I'll take the corpse to be buried, then come and see you afterwards."

I looked at her with a face so miserable and love-stricken that it would have made a dragon weep. That did the trick. Lady Anne smiled brightly, wiped her eyes and said, "Well, at least you regret it."

She turned and walked off with her eyes dry and a spring in her step. This is the other effect I have on people. Heh. Actually, I'm a bit surprised. If I was her, I'd have killed me instead of letting myself be won over. If that makes sense.

* * *

I hired two murderers to kill George. They went to the Tower of London where he was being kept. This is what they told me when they came back:

When they got to the Tower, George guessed at once that they were there to murder him. He _can_ be quite clever at times, I suppose. He was pleading and whingeing for his life and generally being a milksop. The murderers were almost persuaded to spare him, because George always has been good at talking (and talking and talking and talking). But then one of the murderers stabbed him, which shut him up. That same murderer then stuffed him head first into a barrel of Malmsey wine. Hope no one drinks it. Fermented George of Clarence, yuck. That finished George off. All the while, the second murderer was lamenting the loss of an innocent life. Some people are like that. I just can't fathom it. Afterwards, the murderers came back and told me all this. I paid them handsomely.

Now all that remains is to report this to Edward. After all, people never suspect the messenger because the murderer would hush up the murder, not tell everyone about it! I might just have another evil laugh before leaving. Ha ha ha ha harr *cough cough* eurgh, ahem. I've got to work on that, harrumph, sorry. I'm off.


	2. Chapter II

**II.**

 **I'll Dance On Your Graves!**

When I burst into King Edward's bedroom, there seemed to have been a peace agreement between a few nobles. Hastings, Lord Rivers, the duke of Buckingham and the marquis of Dorset were all standing quite close to each other, looking contented. Believe it or not, Elizabeth Woodville (Edward's wife, the Queen) was also beaming at them all! These people are usually squabbling over everything! King Edward was in his bed and grinning widely over the fact that they were all friends again. I greeted them cordially. Edward was grinning as widely as Hastings was earlier. He said he'd been fixing up old arguments. So of course I said sorry to everyone for ever quarrelling with them or threatening them, etc. etc.

The Queen said that she wished George were here so they could make up. Obviously then I _had_ to shatter the happiness and report that George was dead. Everyone jumped, Edward gasped, the Queen looked at me shrewdly, and Hastings turned a funny greenish colour. Edward's grin was wiped off his face just like Hastings'. And with the same cause too. George. I sadly shook my head and looked at the floor to try and conceal the grin that was starting on _my_ face too. What is it with this infernal grin!? Edward looked paler than ever after I reported the news. But that's all right because George is out of the way, so Edward can go ahead and die. Crown, here I come! Hooray! But there are still Edward's sons to go. Drat. I might just go somewhere else and kick something (or someone) before thinking up a new plan. Brain, get ready to have another headache.

* * *

A few years later, I woke up grumpy, as usual. I was just plodding down the stairs scowling at the birds that were singing outside, when a messenger ran up to me and informed me that King Edward was dead! I tried hard not to break into a jig and forced my face into an appropriately mournful expression. I wiped a tear of joy from my eye. The messenger misinterpreted it and nodded sadly. He walked off dragging his feet. I know, I _know_ , not many people are glad when their brother dies. But let's face it, his health was ruined anyway. I'm just happy that he's no longer suffering. Oh, and there's also the small matter of the throne. I really should go and comfort my mother now, being the dutiful son that I am. Maybe I could put stones in my shoes to stop myself from looking too cheery…

* * *

Back home. Mother's really miserable. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

I said, "Cheer up, at least you've still got me as a son!" That just made her look even more depressed. Tsk. She doesn't know greatness when she sees it. Never mind. I'll just try harder to get the crown. Then she'll be happy! Very proud of me too, I shouldn't wonder! Speaking of which, I need to think of another plan to prevent dead Ed's sons from getting the crown before me. Hmmm...

* * *

A plan! A plan! I have a plan! A devious scheme to propel the crown in my direction! Yippee! I have a plan!

* * *

Heh. Fancy there being a staircase right where I want to bounce for joy with my eyes closed. Yep. I fell down it. I didn't break anything, but I got a quizzical look from Anne when I nearly crashed into her at the bottom (we're married now, by the way).

Right, anyway, here's my Pretty Spectacular Plan:

The new king is Edward's eldest son. He is also called Edward. He will be arriving in London sometime in the next few days, accompanied by his younger brother Richard, duke of York. Now, there is usually a crowd of nobles to greet a king when they arrive somewhere. Some of them are too friendly with or too related to that horrid Queen Elizabeth for my liking (I wish she'd popped her clogs along with dear old King Edward, really). I've taken care of that! I'll be sending Lord Rivers, Lord Grey and Sir Thomas Vaughan to Pomfret Castle, pretending that they will pose a threat to our beloved King Edward V. The real reason, of course, is so that I can lock the king and his brother up in the Tower. And then, after chopping some heads off, I will be king! Aren't I brilliant!? Oh all right, it _is_ a bit risky, but with the help of the duke of Buckingham, Lord Francis Lovell, Sir William Catesby and Sir Richard Ratcliff, my plan will work! Ha ha ha ha harr! Hey, even my evil laugh works better! I feel that things are going to go very well indeed!


	3. Chapter III

**III.**

 **The Executioner's Arms Are Probably Sore By Now**

I did it! I have locked the young Edward V and his brother Richard in the Tower of London! I got my poor ears prattled to bits, but I did it. When they arrived here, I told them they'd be lodging in the Tower. Edward consented without saying much, but Richard said he was frightened of meeting George duke of Clarence's angry ghost there. I can't blame him. I don't want to see George's ugly face again either, especially as it's my fault he's gone. (Was that my conscience? Nah.) Anyway, Richard is very witty and takes everything you say to him the wrong way. He talked so much that I had trouble keeping up with what he was saying. In the end he complained about the fact that I called him short. The half-pint gets really touchy when you mention his height. I'm afraid I had made a few comments about Richard's smallness, earlier. He got back at me by indirectly slandering my crooked appearance (the insensitive brat). That titchy nephew of mine takes after his mother the Queen, all clever chatter. King Edward V is more like his gentlemanly, polite father.

Now I'm going to tell you how I'm getting rid of my dear young nephews. I'm going to have them smothered in their sleep. Am I not a remarkably brilliant clever clogs!? Subtle but effective. I may not be that good-looking, but I have charm, wit, brains, fighting skills and general awesomeness. And I'm modest too. All the right qualities for a future king, eh?

* * *

This is getting very dangerous. I am plotting to get the crown, helped by the duke of Buckingham. A very clever man, and quite good at smooth talking. I have tried to get Hastings to help me as well, but no, _he_ wants Edward V on the throne. The trouble is, Hastings now knows that I want to be king instead of Edward. This is bad, very bad! I'm going to have to chop his head off for plotting to kill me. That is not very true, but it's a good excuse. And I still have to execute Rivers, Grey and Vaughan for their 'treason' against young King Edward. (To me, treason is being related to Elizabeth Woodville.)

* * *

Those noble noggins have now been removed. Now for Hastings. I shall take care of him later. I have a meeting with a few nobles at the Tower of London tomorrow, and Lord Hastings shall be there. Yawn. I'm tired. Probably because of thinking up all these plans to get the crown. I must go to bed...

* * *

Oh dang and blast! I overslept! I'm late I'm late I'm late! I must dash!

* * *

Phew. I hadn't missed anything important. When I got to the Tower, the lords were discussing when the coronation of King Edward V was to take place. I took the duke of Buckingham to one side and told him of the danger Lord Hastings poses to our plan. We left the room for a while, as if to talk. Then (for dramatic effect) Buckingham and I walked back in, I looking shocked and Buckingham visibly shaken.

I told everyone that Queen Elizabeth had used witchcraft to make my back crooked (I made that up, of course, but I wouldn't be at all surprised if it was true). Everyone takes evil charms seriously. Noble, honest Hastings tried to defend her, but that meant he was in her plot as well! In a thrilling climax, I shouted, "Off with his head!" I also added that I would not eat anything until his head was removed. That should hurry the execution up!

I stalked off in a huff, followed by the nobles who were at the meeting. I could hear Hastings stating the obvious at me ("bloody Richard!") while he was being led off by some guards. A step closer to the throne! I could laugh if I wasn't trying to stay dignified, like a real king would be in this situation.

* * *

Hastings is dead! Finished! He's kicked the bucket, hopped the twig, bit the dust, popped his clogs, call it what you will, but the only thing that matters is that he's gone! My friend Lord Lovell brought me his head earlier today. It suits Hastings to be a-head. Always the chap to rush into things.

Now, (hehe) here comes the second part of my plan. The duke of Buckingham is to declare the illegitimacy of Edward V and his brother. After all, their dad Edward IV _was_ engaged to someone else before deciding to marry Elizabeth Woodville. I bet no-one else thought of that! All the while, I am to look saintly and humble, like that Henry VI. I really don't like copying _him_ , but it must be done so that I can be king. Then, when people beg for me to take the crown, I'll refuse for a bit and then accept with an 'Oh well, if I must' attitude.

Er... Buckingham's just arrived now. I must go. I feel as if I've got the worst case of butterflies in the entire kingdom right now! Groan. Butterflies in chain mail with steel clogs. Ouch. I hate my guts. Re-groan.

* * *

Three cheers for me! The scheme worked! Here's what happened:

Buckingham and I went to Baynard's Castle to meet with the Mayor and a few citizens of London. The armoured butterflies promptly began a Morris dance. They stopped when I thought of being king. Buckingham told everyone about how Edward V should not be the king. I came into the room between two bishops, with a prayer book in my hand. Buckingham begged me to become king. Then the Mayor, who had been convinced by Buckingham's smooth tongue, also asked me. I was trying not to break out in sniggers of excitement. And when Sir Catesby (another of my friends) pleaded that I accept to become king, I could barely stop myself from whooping in exhilaration.

I said something like: "Oh! I am so unworthy, old chap, I can't depose the young king, nor become king in his place. I'm unfit for such power! My answer is 'sorry but no'."

Buckingham swore and left the room with the Mayor and the people that came. I shouted, "Don't swear, my lord Buckingham!" after them, to conserve my saintly appearance.

Catesby had stayed behind. He said to me (loudly enough so that Buckingham could hear), "Oh please call them back and accept! Otherwise someone else, perhaps a _Lancastrian_ will get the throne!"

So I called them back and hesitatingly accepted to be king. Buckingham yelled, "Long live King Richard!" I allowed myself a quick smile.

"Do you want to be crowned tomorrow?" asked Buckingham. I tried to look thoughtful, but I think I might have looked more like I had a knife stuck in my backside through trying not to laugh. When I had forced down my sniggers, I said to Buckingham, "Whatever you want, dear Duke, it's you who got me into this!"

I went away as if to continue praying, but really it was so I could laugh my head off. I jumped for joy so high that I hit the ceiling. But I'm sure having the crown on my head will cure the lump. No need for evil laughs now, I have _succeeded_!


	4. Chapter IV

**IV.**

 **God Save Our Gracious Me**

I. AM. KING! And Anne my wife, she is Queen. You'd think that would have cheered her up, but no, she is always moping around. Royalty is the highest place you can get to; why would anyone be sad over it? I really don't understand her. Although, I suspect it might be because she is not allowed to see the two princes I locked in the Tower. I have forbidden anyone to go and see them, in case they plot to put my nephew Edward back on the throne. Now that I'm at the top, I'm not taking _any_ chances. Oh, speaking of taking no chances, I really should ask the duke of Buckingham to find a way to 'get rid', i.e. assassinate or _kill_ the two brothers. That young Richard... I wouldn't be surprised if he has the brains to shove me and his older brother off the throne and take the crown that fits so nicely on my head!

* * *

Ow. My lip is really sore from biting it. I did that to stop myself from yelling at Buckingham. When I asked him to get rid of the princes, he turned pale and said I could do as I pleased. Not his usual obedient, expressionless, cool self. He could see me biting my lip in anger, so he said that he will think about it. He usually makes instant decisions... I might have to execute him... but we'll see.

And he's not the only one around here that's changed. All the lords seem to have become nervous and edgy ever since I became king. They even jump at their own shadows if I'm in the same room as them. The marquis of Dorset took it even further and fled overseas! To where or who, I don't know. But anyway, I need those princes out of the way _now_.

Just then, I saw a page boy crossing the room. "Oi! You there!" I shouted. He turned around. "Yes, my lord?"

"D'you know someone who would kill for money?" I asked.

"Yes, his name is James Tyrrel, and he loves gold more than anything," replied the boy.

"Bring the bloke here, then," I said.

He ran off to fetch Tyrrel, anxious not to stay within my foot's reach. I was still thinking about Buckingham and wondering why in the world he would pause to think. He's a quick-thinking chap and has never tired of plotting with me before. Well, if he doesn't want to work with me anymore, then so be it. But I won't work with him anymore, either. He won't like that.

* * *

Shortly after that, Lord Stanley brought the news that Dorset had fled to young Henry the earl of Richmond, who was in France. The traitor.

Er... and apart from that, Anne is extremely ill now. That means I'll need another wife if she does... um... s-snuff it. I mean... I do need a son to be king after me, right?

* * *

Huh! I can't believe I had trouble saying 'snuff it'! It's not as if I even care about her or anything...

* * *

When the page boy brought that James Tyrrel, I was immediately pleased with him. I asked Tyrrel to get rid of the princes and he accepted without flinching or even changing expression. He's much better than that scaredy-cat duke of Buckingham.

It's late now. I must go to bed. I wonder what tomorrow will bring?

* * *

Well, now tomorrow is today. And this is what took place.

Buckingham came into the room and said that he had considered my request to get rid of the princes. "Never mind that, did you hear that Dorset has fled to the earl of Richmond?" I replied.

"I heard the news, my lord," said Buckingham stiffly. I then started up a conversation with Lord Stanley about Henry Richmond.

"But, my lord, didn't you promise me the earldom of Hereford?" asked Buckingham. "You know you said you'd give it to me if I helped you become king."

I just continued talking to Stanley.

"What does your Highness say to my request?" persisted Buckingham.

"I remember that Henry VI predicted that Richmond would be king, when Richmond was just a little boy. A king! Perhaps..." I trailed off, deep in thought.

"My lord –" began Buckingham.

"I wonder why Henry didn't tell me to kill Richmond then, to save me the trouble of doing so now?" I said, half to Stanley and half to myself.

"My lord, your promise for the earldom –" began Buckingham again.

"Richmond!" I was now talking fully to myself. "A bard from Ireland told me I wouldn't live long after seeing Richmond!"

"My lord –" Buckingham again. I couldn't ignore him anymore.

"Yes, what's the time?" I asked.

"I am trying to remind your Grace of that promise you made to me!" said Buckingham, finally getting his whole sentence out.

"Yes, yes, but what is the time?" I asked, pestering him back.

"Ten o'clock precisely," growled Buckingham.

"I can hear the bells striking ten, one after another, just like your (here I shot him a withering glare) incessant begging regularly interrupting my thinking!" I glowered at him, biting my lip so hard that it started bleeding.

"But pleeease can you give me that earldom?" whined Buckingham.

"You are annoying me with your endless snivelling," I growled angrily. "I'm not in the mood for giving today!" I left the room fuming. Talk about being ticked off.

When Buckingham thought (mistakenly) that I was out of earshot, he muttered, "All the things I've done for him, and he repays my service with disrespect? Did I make him king for this? I mean, look at what happened to Hastings! I must escape while my head's still on!" He left with rather unsteady steps. 'Good riddance!' I thought. But then, I heard someone in the next room. I went to see who it was. It was Sir James Tyrrel!

When I entered the room, he greeted me cheerfully. "All health to my sovereign lord!"

"Do you bring me good news, Tyrrel?" I asked.

"If to have done what you asked me to do is good news, then you can relax, 'cos I've done the job! I hired two blackguards with reputations none too clean to smother them in their sleep! The princes are dead, my lord!"

I leaped for joy in my head and invited Tyrrel to dinner. He left the room smirking proudly.

Edward's sons were now gone (hooray!). So was Anne. She... erm... left this world at the same time as my nephews. Just before daybreak. I don't know why I'm even writing about her... uh... death. It's not really... that... er... oh, never mind. Forget I said anything. My new wife will be Elizabeth of York, the dead princes' sister. You see, if Henry of Richmond marries her, he would have a better claim on the throne than he does now. So I'll marry her first.

I'm going off subject here. Back to what happened today. After Tyrrel left, Sir Richard Ratcliff burst into the room, looking quite panicked.

"Why so rushed?" I asked. "Is it good or bad news?"

"Bad news, my lord," he panted, "Bishop Morton of Ely has gone over to Richmond, and Buckingham has teamed up with some Welshmen. His army is now quite big!"

"The bishop with Richmond worries me more than Buckingham and his rabble," I muttered. "You must gather men immediately. We mustn't be slow when traitors are out and about!"

* * *

Oh calamity! Oh cataclysm! Princess Elizabeth will not marry me! No amount of persuading will make it

happen! I must keep Richmond away!

* * *

Aaaarrrrgghh! Lord Stanley brought me more news! Richmond is on the seas! He is sailing here! He was

stirred up against me by Dorset, Bishop Morton and Buckingham! I shouldn't have ignored Buckingham! But hang on, I'm the king, so I could execute that TREACHEROUS DEGENERATE IMMORAL EXCUSE FOR A DUKE. Must stay cool and calm.

* * *

I might not be able to stay calm for much longer. Luckily I've got nerves of steel. This is what took place:

A messenger entered the room and told me that Sir Edward Courtney, the Bishop of Exeter and many more people had taken up arms. I shuddered.

Another messenger came in and said, "In Kent, my liege, the Guilfords are getting ready for war, and every hour more people flock to Buckingham's rebels!"

I started trembling at the knees. I have become very nervous lately, despite my steely nerves.

And then yet another messenger arrived! "My lord, the army of great Buckingham –"

"Get out!" I yelled, losing my calm. "Can't you say anything except words full of death!?" I socked the last messenger in the jaw. "There, take that until you bring better news!" I grumbled, feeling that this was quite the last straw. The messenger I had whacked rolled his eyes, rubbing his bruised cheek. "The news I had to tell your Majesty is that Buckingham's army is scattered by floods, and he himself is wandering alone somewhere." He looked rather put out.

"Sorry!" I said, turning red. "Here's some money to cure that bruise I made. Has anyone put out a notice that there is a reward for whoever brings the traitor in?"

"Oh, yes yes, of course, my lord!" grinned the messenger.

That was a bit embarrassing. Hitting the only person who had good news to bring.


	5. Chapter V

**V.**

 **Why Does Dying Have To Be Painful?**

I have just sent Buckingham to his execution! And when the time comes, I will go to Bosworth Field with my huge army and destroy Henry Tudor, that stinking earl of Richmond! I hate the upstart! Woe to whoever tries to get the crown off _me_!

* * *

I have a big army and I'm the king, but people seem more on Richmond's side, somehow. They insult me and hate me a lot. I only have a few friends who like me. The rest of them stay with me through fear of what I might do to them if they deserted. The trouble is, I'm not exactly sure how to be nice to people. I haven't tried at all, lately. *sigh* But I am determined to keep my crown! It's all I've got left now, isn't it?

* * *

It is night-time. My army and I pitched our tents on a hill in Bosworth Field earlier today.

My army is a lot bigger than Richmond's army, so I should have nothing to fear. I'm also the best flippin' fighter this side of the Holy Land! It's said that pride comes before a fall, but it's the other side who'll be doing the falling. I think. Possibly.

It's now 9 o'clock. I must go to my tent and sleep. It's going to be a very busy day tomorrow. It's very odd, but I don't feel that cheerful about crushing the rebel army. I have an itch at the back of my mind. It might be my _conscience_! No. It can't be. My conscience died years ago, heh. But still... Oh never mind. I must sleep...

* * *

I woke up suddenly a few minutes ago, shouting for help. I was terrified out of my wits! It was only a dream that scared me, though. I dreamt that the ghosts of all the people I'd killed appeared here in my tent. There was Henry VI, Henry VI's son (Anne's previous husband), my brother George (oh dear), Lord Rivers, Lord Grey, Sir Vaughan, Hastings, my two murdered nephews, Buckingham and my wife Anne. (But I didn't kill her! Honest!) They were all cursing me and blessing Richmond! (How could you, Anne?) They all reminded me of the things I did to them.

I have a conscience! I'm afraid! What do I fear? What am I afraid of? Myself? There's no-one else to be frightened of around here.

Is there someone here to murder me? Is there a murderer here? No... Yes! _I_ am a murderer! I must run from the killer! What, from myself? Argh! I hate myself for all the things I've done! I am a villain! No, no I'm not. I must think well of myself. I always have (mostly). I'm awesome. No! I mustn't flatter myself! I am evil, bad, rotten to the core! My mind is pulling me in all different directions! I hate it!

I'm full of despair. No-one loves me, and if I die, no-one will pity me. And why should they? I can't even pity myself like I used to. Sniff, sniff. Sniffle. Ahem. 'Scuse me. Sudden runny nose for some stupid reason.

"My lord!" someone yelled from outside. I swore in fright. "Who's there?" I called, hastily blowing my nose (hayfever, y'know).

Richard Ratcliff poked his head around the tent flap. "What's the matter, sire?" he asked. "You look as if you've seen a ghost!"

How _did_ he guess!? "I h-had a bad dream, Ratcliff!" I said, standing up and grabbing his arm. "Do y-you think our friends will be true to us in the battle?"

"I'm sure they will, my lord!" he said wide-eyed, unused to seeing me showing fear.

"Er, Ratcliff," I said, eyes burning and watering (dratted hayfever), "this may be a first, but I'm frightened!" He patted me on the back. "Don't worry, my lord, it was only a dream." he said. "Anyway, you'd better put your armour on, because your army is getting ready."

* * *

The battle was raging. My horse was dead. The enemy was winning, because that TREASONOUS ROTTER Stanley had deserted me and gone over to the other side halfway through the battle. Talk about a backstabber! Is that how Stanley knives got their name?

I slashed through men, cutting their armour like butter, searching for Henry the earl of Richmond. I kept on seeing him all over the place, but as soon as I thought I got him, it turned out to be someone else. I felt that I had to kill him to stop my conscience from burning away in my head.

After all, I made a decision to seek the crown, and I wasn't going to give up on that! You see, if there's one thing I hate more than backstabbers, it's indecision. Although... if I got killed in battle, I wouldn't be able to stay king, would I? "A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!" I yelled. He who fights and gallops away lives to fight Richmond another day, and all that.

Catesby came running and led me to one. I mounted it and spotted Richmond. A blind, furious, half-crazed anger boiled up in me suddenly. I galloped the horse towards him. The horse got stuck in a bog, so I jumped off and sprang at Richmond. The trouble was, I was so exhausted because I hadn't eaten anything the previous night, meaning that I fought with him less well than I would have done. I eventually got the better of him and was just about to kill him, when someone knocked off my helmet from behind, the sly dog. Richmond scuttled off and hid behind someone else. I was so knackered when I tried to get at him again, that the person in front of Richmond was able to knock me over.

I had just about got up again when suddenly something hit me hard, I felt a blinding pain in my head, my vision turned purple and strange bright spots exploded in front of my eyes before everything faded away…

* * *

After I died, my ghost watched as Lord Stanley (now why didn't HE go on my to-kill list?) took the severely dented crown off my head and placed it on Henry Tudor's head. Henry said that he'd marry Princess Elizabeth of York and join the red and white roses together, stopping any more fighting.

Ah... hang on. Doesn't that mean, in a way, that the Yorkist family still has the crown? Hmm, I hadn't thought of that. I suppose that it _would_ be a change for the better, having no civil war in poor old England. If I had stayed king, would I have been able to bring (eventual) peace? I really don't know...

But anyway, I only have one question to ask myself, now that I've ruined my life by dying: **Why, oh why _did_ I get out of bed that morning!?**

 **THE END.**

 ***** Note: Funnily enough, I have been hit in the head very hard once before, so what Richard sees as he is killed is what I saw. Except I didn't die, of course.


End file.
